A Daughter's Love
by behindthemusic
Summary: Patrick Jane's daughter was resuscitated the night Red John attacked, but her father was too overwhelmed by the death of her mother to know and care for her. She was secretly placed into foster care, never to see her true parents ever again. Until now, that is. At eighteen years old, Charlotte Jane resurfaces. But can Jane accept her now that he's finally trying to move on? JISBON!
1. I'm Sorry, But I'm Youre Daughter

A Daughter's Love

**A/N: I Regretfully Own Nothing**.

Perhaps Patrick Jane's daughter was resuscitated the night Red John attacked, and her father was too overwhelmed by the death of her mother to care for her. What if she was secretly placed into foster care and whisked away, never to see her true parents ever again. Until now, that is. Eighteen years old and practically a woman, Charlotte Jane reaches out to the CBI – but will Jane accept her, especially now that he is so close to moving on? **ENJOY! :) Please Review! You all are amazing! :)**

Chapter One – I'm Sorry, But I'm Your Daughter

The day began normally as usual.

It was a humid and hot June day, and the air was thick and sticky. No one wanted to spend the day at the CBI office, but work was work and there was much that needed done. Today was what the team referred to as a 'paperwork day', in which there wasn't a particular case to be closed up, but instead boring and tiresome reports to fill out and file from past cases.

In other words, it was a slow day.

Patrick never helped much with paperwork. He often spent days like this one asleep on the couch or pestering Grace while she typed. Sometimes, he wandered his way into Lisbon's office and took a shot at irking her as well. However, even he knew when it was best to leave her alone for fear for his life; paperwork days were classified as one of those times.

And so the day began, Patrick claiming his normal spot on 'his' couch, Grace arriving early as usual to get a head start, followed by Cho, who settled in quietly and without expression into his work station. Rigsby was always down-to-the-wire with him timing, running late and covered in either baby powder or baby food or baby scent. Teresa arrived sometime during this period, and, after a quick 'not-so-good morning' to her team, ventured into her office and stayed there for quite some time.

This was how that muggy June morning had started out, according to routine, just as Patrick Jane liked it. He had never been a fan of change. He liked things the way they were, and wanted to keep them that way. Especially now that everything was finally falling into place for him.

A few months after his hallucination of his daughter, he realized that she(his subconscious) was right after all; it was time for him to move on. And so he tried, taking baby steps at first but eventually taking larger strides toward 'moving on'. The greatest leap of all, of course, was trying to open his heart to Teresa Lisbon.

Patrick approached her office door that morning, and, although he was polite enough to knock, entered before she gave him permission. She barely glanced up from the work in front of her, and let out a small noise from the back of her throat in an attempt to greet him. He smirked.

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine."

Teresa looked up into his sparkling blue eyes and couldn't help but crack a smile. "There's no sun here. You must have the wrong room."

"Ah, I don't believe so," Patrick replied, his smile growing larger as he approached her desk. He bent down to her level so that he was practically whispering into her ear. "Because you certainly are the one who brightens my day."

Teresa let out a laugh and playfully pushed him away. "Oh, shut up. You're so cheesy." Patrick chuckled as he brushed his lips with hers. Even the slightest touch with her filled him with joy and passion. He went to deepen the kiss, but Teresa pulled away.

Noo, Patrick." She said in a fake-scolding manner, although she sounded rather disappointed at herself for breaking off the kiss. "Not at work."

He let out an exasperated sign and backed away from her desk. "Oh, fine." He winked at her. "I suppose I'll just have to save my emotions for tonight."

Teresa cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Don't tease me, Jane."

"I'm not teasing you; I'm simply…informing you on the events for the night, is all." He retorted, a mock-innocence in his voice.

Teresa smiled, but before she could reply there was another knock on the door.

"Come in!" She called, and Jane stepped to the side of the room as though to get out of the way. In the doorway stood a young lady in her late teens with an expression of nervousness yet excitement shown through her eyes. The sight of her brought an aching into Patrick's heart that he could not fully explain; then again, young girls with blonde hair always made him think of his own blonde-haired daughter. But this was different. He felt almost a _connection_ to her very being that he had never felt before. It was feeling so odd and unusual that he felt faint and had to sit own in one of the chairs across the room.

"Hello there." Lisbon spoke to the girl, apparently not noticing Patrick's reaction.

The girl took a step into the room. "Hi." She said a bit awkwardly. "You're Teresa Lisbon, correct?"

Patrick looked over the girl slowly, still trying to understand why he was feeling so strange. Of course, his underlying emotions were telling him that the girl in front of him had to be his daughter; after all, she surely did resemble a grown-up Charlotte that he had always imagined. But his rational mind pushed his feelings away; his baby girl was dead, and nothing could change that.

The teenager in front of him – who he assumed to be eighteen or so – had the crazy blonde curls for hair that his own Charlotte had inherited from him. She had them neatly pulled to the side in a ponytail, and they cascaded around the one side of her neck and chest. She had stunning blue pools for eyes, and her light skin was unblemished and smooth. She had soft features and an overall beauty about her that practically made her illuminate the room.

"I am." Teresa responded. "Can I help you?"

The girl nodded. "I hope so. I'm looking for one of your agents, actually."

Teresa nodded as well, signaling the teenager to go on.

"His name is Patrick Jane." Patrick's eyebrows snapped up as his name was mentioned, but he wasn't sure if the girl noticed. In fact, she seemed so anxious and focused on Teresa, he wondered if she'd even really taken note that he was in the room at all. She continued, "I've been told that he's blonde, dresses well, a bit of a troublemaker…" The girl trailed off as Teresa smiled slightly.

"Yes, I know Patrick well. That description was rather perfect, may I add."

The girl smiled a bit as well. "That's what they told me about him at the front desk."

"Well, luckily for you, Mr. Jane is right here." Teresa signaled to her right, where Patrick was already standing up from the chair. "May I ask why you're looking for him?"

But the girl did not reply. It was unlikely by the look on her face if she had even heard Teresa or not. Her eyes were wide as saucers, and her face white as a sheet as she stared up at Patrick. He peered back down at her, surprised by her reaction.

"I still remember…" The girl breathed out the words so softly, it was hard for Patrick to even decipher what she had said at all. She seemed to be filled with genuine shock.

A little bit louder, she went on. "And my angel, off to sleep. Tomorrow we'll make more memories to keep." Her eyes became glistened with tears.

At her poetic words, it was Jane's turn to react with shock and fear. He shook his head, slowly at first, and then more quickly, as though he was trying to wake himself from a dream. "No, no, no, no, no. How can you know those words? How can you –" He trailed off, and then suddenly did something Teresa had never really witnessed him do.

He openly wept.

"Because," The girl ran up to Patrick and took his hands into hers. Tears fell freely from her eyes as well. "You used to say that verse every night to me before I went to sleep. And then you would tuck me in and kiss me on my forehead. I still remember it. I still remember."

Patrick continued to shake his head and pulled his hands away from her grasp. "You're a liar." He managed to whisper. "My Charlotte has been dead for a decade. You can't –" He trailed off once again. Lisbon watched the scene unraveling in front of her in confusion and utter disbelief.

"But I am." The girl's soft voice whispered through her tears. "I'm your Charlotte, daddy. I've finally found you again."

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	2. I'm Sorry, But I Can't Believe You

A Daughter's Love

**A/N: I Regretfully Own Nothing.**

_I would like to thank all the many of you who have liked, reviewed, and favorite-d this story. It means soo much to me and I'm so glad that you like it so far:) Keep it up!_

_This one is a little bit shorter, but I liked it this way; it shows the panic of Patrick better this way. The next one will be longer, I promise:)_

Chapter Two – I'm Sorry, But I Can't Believe You

Patrick stood mere inches from the curly haired beauty in front of him. He couldn't believe he was reacting so naïvely towards this obvious fraud. Why on earth was he crying? Maybe, _just maybe_, it was because a part within his heart truly believed that she was his daughter. He shook the thought away and focused on composing himself. He was acting like a fool.

"You're not my Charlotte." He spat at the girl, his eyes growing cold. He wiped the tears from his face and curtly walked past her. She stood silently, staring at the spot where her 'father' had just stood moments before, obvious confusion and dismay written across her face. Patrick, however, directed his attention once again to Lisbon. He pointed behind himself at the young woman.

"I want her detained for questioning. She's one of them; she's an obvious disciple of Red John."

At that statement, the girl burst into hysterics. Teresa jumped in shock, not anticipating such a violent reaction. Patrick turned toward the girl as well, the hard expression in his eyes softening slightly.

The girl had practically collapsed, and had to sit down in the chair where Patrick had once been moments before. She took a few minutes to compose herself, only the sound of the clock _tick_ing and her sobs echoing through the office. Finally, she spoke up once again.

"I apologize." She managed to choke out. "I'm not used to hearing _his_ name. It haunts me."

"Oh, really?" Patrick viciously retorted. "Me, too."

"Daddy –" Charlotte tried to calm him, but Patrick cut her off.

"_STOP IT!" _He practically screamed. "Who do you think you are? What kind of monster are you?"

"Jane." Teresa softly interjected. Patrick calmed slightly at the sound of her voice. His heart was pounding so fiercely he half-expected it to jump out of his chest. He couldn't explain why he was acting this way; he hardly ever let his emotions overcome him, but this…this was just too much. For some reason, his feelings were managing to take control over his mind – something that rarely ever happened. This girl was affecting him like no one else ever had.

Patrick gripped onto the side of Teresa's oak desk, his eyes focusing on an invisible mark on the carpet. "What does he want with me now?" He directed the question towards Charlotte, trying to keep himself composed and his voice flat, but inside of his mind his emotions were raging.

"I – I don't know what you mean." She stuttered, her voice shaky and her face pale. This was obviously not how she had expected Patrick to react to her. "I haven't seen him since that….since that _night_." Her final words struggled and were so faint that both Patrick and Teresa had to strain to hear them. Patrick could feel his temper and suspicion and sorrow all flooding back to him at once.

How _dare_ she mention the night of his family's death, as though she had truly been there.

Patrick raised his eyes from the floor so that they could look Charlotte in the eyes. He silently cursed when he realized how identical they were to his own. "Prove that you're my Charlotte," he said, taking a step towards her. Lisbon watched his every move, sincerely frightened by his emotional state. Patrick took another step, closing the gap between himself and the girl. "Prove it."

She blinked those deep blue eyes and took a deep breath. The air in the room thickly hung with anticipation. She opened her mouth and began to speak her proof, just as Patrick had requested.

"For starters, I don't know why you've only referred to me as Charlotte. I was never Charlotte growing up, unless I was in trouble or you were being serious – which wasn't very often." She took a step towards Patrick, just as he had to her. "I was your Charlie. You called me that since practically the day I was born."

"Even Red John can spew out facts; nearly everyone who ever met my daughter called her Charlie." Patrick interjected, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. Charlotte continued, as though she had never been interrupted in the first place.

"You used to sing me to sleep because I was afraid of the monsters that I thought lived in my closet. Ironically, you sang songs from _Sweeney Todd___to calm me down. Remember "Not While I'm Around"? That one was my favorite." She stepped closer to Patrick again, and saw that his eyes had grown as large as saucers. She began to softly sing, her voice lovely and sweet. "_Nothing's gunna harm you, not while I'm around. Nothing's gunna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around…_ Looking back, that was strangely ironic as well."

Patrick stared silently into her eyes as she spoke, and could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. It was a cruel – and true – statement, but Charlotte's expression showed no malice; only sadness and a longing for him to accept her. Patrick had to look away.

In his heart, he knew there was no way that she could have possibly known about his singing and her fear of monsters lurking and the exact song he used to sing unless she truly _was_ Charlotte Jane. But his rational mind would not – _could _not – accept it. His Charlie was dead.

Then why were his fatherly instincts still insisting that this was her?

Charlotte went on, determined. "Every Friday that you had to do a show or an appearance for work, I was allowed stay up until you got home. Mom and I would make brownies for you –"

Patrick held up his hand in dismay. He gripped onto Teresa's desk once again, this time for support. He felt faint. Teresa stood up and grabbed at his arm to try and help him sit, but he brushed her away.

"Please. Don't bring my Angie into this." He said weakly. Teresa couldn't help but feel a slight sting at the bottom of her heart. She had been so certain that he had truly moved on…

Charlotte listened, and reached out her hand to touch Patrick on the arm to console him. He suddenly realized how close they were standing to each other. Before he could react to her touch, a smell drifted up to his nose. Was that...no, it couldn't be.

He hadn't smelled that since –

The night before his family had been murdered. The bathroom always smelled like it after Charlotte was done with her bath.

Strawberries & Cream body wash.

He sudden felt a wash of nausea come across him, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He'd never felt so trapped in his life.

"D-don't touch me." He muttered, pushing Charlotte's hand off of him. He practically darted out of the room , before Lisbon or the girl could react.

He hurried off down the hallway, hearing Teresa calling his name from behind him. He refused to turn around. He had to leave; he had to get as far away as he possibly could.

It was impossible for that girl to be his daughter.

That girl couldn't be his daughter.

That girl wasn't his daughter.

But, _he knew_ that she _was_ his daughter.

And he was too afraid to admit it.

**To Be Continued…**


	3. I'm Sorry, But Just Give Me A Chance

A Daughter's Love

**A/N: I Regretfully Own Nothing**

_Okay guys, I am very very sorry for this whole not-updating thing, but I had mandatory papers that had to get done for school & all that jazz. I'm sooo sorry! I decided to cut this chapter into two chapters, because the next one is all about Charlotte's proof that she is his daughter. So sorry that this is kinda short, but hang with me – the best is yet to come! :)_

_P.S.: I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season! _

Chapter Three – I'm Sorry, But Just Give Me a Chance

Patrick paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The heat of the summer sun beat down on his back as he traipsed around outside. He barely noticed the temperature and the discomfort it caused; his mind was quite obviously focused on much more important things.

That girl was not his daughter. His daughter was dead.

She was dead.

Patrick stopped in his tracks, running a hand through his curly hair. The same curly hair that Charlotte had. He let out an exasperated breath. Everything about Charlotte had been similar to himself. Her hair, her eyes, her attitude, her wit, her personality. Everything except for her smile. That had been her mother's, that bright and flawless smile that could warm anyone's heart. Patrick's heart physically ached. Oh, that smile. He was still in love with that smile.

And, he had to admit, the girl who claimed to be his daughter seemingly had it all – his eyes and hair, her mother's smile – but that was simply what Red John _wanted _Patrick to believe. Yes – this was what Red John was best at: deceiving people. Patrick tried weakly to convince himself. This girl was not his daughter - she was just a look-a-like.

"Jane!" Teresa's voice calling his name snapped Patrick out of his thoughts. The brunette was hurrying down the sidewalk outside CBI with obvious confusion etched upon her face. She stopped when she reached Patrick. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but no words came out. She pursed her lips together, and both of them stood in silence. There were simply no right words to say.

Patrick ran his hand through his curls once again. He used to dream of this day – finding his daughter to be perfectly healthy and surviving. But he always knew that that day would not – COULD not – ever come to be. He had held his dead daughter in his arms. He had –

He closed his eyes, pinching back the memories that had haunted him for so long. He never thought about that dreadful day anymore. He had moved on. At least, that's what he had thought.

"Patrick," Teresa laid her hand on his arm, and he reopened his eyes. He gazed into her face, trying to help calm his nerves. However, a memory of his wife flooded back to him across her face. He winced slightly and turned away, pushing Teresa's touch away from him.

"This cannot be happening." He muttered softly, mostly to himself.

Teresa sighed. "I understand that this is a lot, Patrick, but –"

"No, Lisbon, you _don't_ understand!" He cut her off, snapping his head back in her direction. His words seemed to slice through the air. "This. CANNOT. Be. Happening."

He lowered his head, his eyes staring at the concrete sidewalk. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. Lisbon watched him, knowing very well that he could snap at any moment.

After all, he had been pushed over the edge before.

"I – I need to speak with her." Patrick suddenly spoke up again. "I need to ask her why Red John is doing this to me. I need to prove that – that she isn't my daughter." He pushed past Teresa before she could stop him. He hurried up toward the CBI building as Teresa hurried behind. "She isn't my daughter."

"Patrick! Patrick, wait!" Teresa called after him. But the man paid no attention to her, and entered into the glass doors.

Patrick made his way to the interrogation rooms, where ''Charlotte Jane" sat behind a table, waiting to be questioned. Rigsby and Cho both stood outside the room, peering in at the girl. They both appeared to be in shock, wondering whether this could really be the daughter of Jane. As Patrick approached, they awkwardly shuffled their feet, not quite knowing what to say. Patrick paid them no mind, however, for his attention was solely directed elsewhere. Before they had a chance to speak up and stop him, Patrick was already inside of the darkly-lit room.

Upon seeing Patrick enter the room, Charlotte jumped up from the table, eager and anxious. She fumbled with her hands, and her large blue eyes were wide. She was obviously nervous.

"Sit down." Patrick mumbled to her, his gaze transfixed on how utterly identical she was to how he had always pictured his grown-up daughter. The girl did as told, and slowly eased herself back into the chair.

There was a long silence that followed, affecting the atmosphere around the room. It was apparent that both of them felt drastically uneasy.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Charlotte finally spoke up.

Patrick stared back into her eyes, not breaking his gaze. "No."

Charlotte let out a long breath and adjusted herself in the chair. "I shouldn't be surprised, but…well, I am. I really don't understand your reaction." She leaned toward him. "I'm your _daughter_. I've finally found you again and –"

Jane held up his hand. "Save it." He cut her off from speaking, and she sat back in her chair. "It will take much more than sad words to convince me of the impossible."

Charlotte shook her head. "But it's not impossible!"

"You _died_!" Jane exclaimed. "Dammit, my daughter has been dead for ten years! Please explain to me how your presence here now is even slightly possible."

Charlotte let out a frustrated breath. "I never died, daddy!"

Jane winced. He hadn't been called that name in nearly ten years. He looked at Charlotte, his eyes filled with sadness and painful memories. She took in a breath, clearly affected by his emotion.

"I held my dead child in my arms the night that she was murdered. Her blood soaked into my clothes and my skin from her mutilated body. She was dead before any medics even arrived." Patrick bitterly spat. "Now, be honest and tell me why Red John feels the need to mess with my head once again by trying to convince me of the impossible."

Charlotte shook her head at him and pushed herself up from the table. "God, you're just as stubborn as I remember you." She stood across from Patrick, standing as tall as she could to seem authoritative. Patrick stared down at her, feeling his emotional fortress beginning to crack. "Just please, hear me out! I can explain everything to you if you would just hear me out."

Patrick studied her face, and noticed the desperation in her eyes. It was as though he were staring into a mirror. Finally, he gave in and nodded slightly. Charlotte exhaled and laid her hand on his arm.

"Thank you." She whispered softly. "I _can_ prove that I'm your daughter."

Patrick watched her, unsure of what he believed anymore. Maybe, just maybe, this was his daughter. But if she really was…then what would he do? How could he pick up the pieces after a decade of thinking that she was dead? He shook out the thoughts from his mind. There was no way that his daughter could be alive. He _knew _that.

But, inside his heart, he thought differently.

Looking back at the spitting image of his daughter in front of him, her eyes wide and anxious, he decided to listen to his instincts. After all, they had never failed him before. "Go ahead." He said to her softly. "I'm listening."

**To Be Continued…**


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